Incident on Ten-Right Road

by Randall Silvis

DeMarco: And you took her inside?

  Gessler: I knew Junie was at work. I knew Meghan was at the 7-Eleven. So I got the key out of the basket and let us in.

  DeMarco: You weren’t worried about being seen by Mr. Hickman or anybody else?

  Gessler: He’d seen my car in the driveway before. Ever since high school I’d been going there.

  DeMarco: And what did you do when you were inside?

  Gessler: Basically I just followed Liz from room to room. She had a stupid comment about everything. The furniture, the linoleum in the kitchen, even the shower curtain with seahorses on it. She thought it was incredible that people could live with just one bathroom in the house.

  DeMarco: Is that it? You just walked around in there? (pause) What else did you do, Alex?

  Gessler: It was Liz’s idea.

  DeMarco: I’m sure it was. But be specific, please.

  The video will show Ardmore whispering to Alex.

  Gessler: We had sex on her bed.

  DeMarco: You and Liz had sex on Meghan’s bed.

  Gessler: Like I said, it was her idea.

  DeMarco: And you never told Meghan about this?

  Gessler: God, no. She would’ve castrated me.

  Long pause.

  DeMarco: One of the last texts Liz sent to you. She wrote, ‘You owe me big time.’ Do you remember that?

  Gessler: I never asked her to do a single thing! I never expected her too!

  Gessler sobbing.

  DeMarco: Do you feel that you owe her something for what she did on your behalf?

  Ardmore: That’s uncalled for, Sergeant. Totally inappropriate.

  DeMarco: Thank you both for your time. We’re finished now.

  I stood up here, followed by Ardmore. Then Gessler stood.

  Gessler: So I’m in the clear?

  DeMarco: We’ll see how that goes.

  End of interview.

  August 17

  Results from the DNA sample taken from Elizabeth Tenney show a positive match with those on the e-cigarette recovered from the Game Lands area, and with the DNA from the previously unknown individual recovered from Meghan Fletcher’s bedroom. There was also a match from the bedroom with Alex Gessler’s DNA.

  The tread pattern on the tires of Elizabeth Tenney’s Jeep Wrangler Sport match the tread marks left in the mud on the Game Lands road.

  A security camera mounted on the West Middlesex Conservancy building shows a gold Jeep Wrangler Sport entering the Game Lands road at 5:07 a.m. on the morning of August 12. The same vehicle exited the Game Lands road at the Conservancy building one hour and nine minutes later.

  The wooden jewelry box taken from Meghan Fletcher’s bedroom was found in a bag of garbage in a can outside the Tenney home.

  The photo of Alex Gessler and Meghan Fletcher taken from Meghan Fletcher’s home was found in a drawer in Elizabeth Tenney’s bedroom dresser.

  The missing money has not been recovered, nor has the murder weapon.

  Trace evidence found on the gearshift of Elizabeth Tenney’s Jeep tested positive for human blood; unfortunately the evidence was contaminated by cleaning solvents; no DNA could be extracted.

  A half-empty two-pack of e-cigarette minis, vanilla, was discovered in the glove box of Elizabeth Tenney’s Jeep; the remaining e-cigarette was an exact match with the e-cigarette recovered at the Game Lands.

  Alex Gessler has agreed to testify for the prosecution. According to information supplied by Gessler through his lawyer, Elizabeth Tenney has a history of violence against other females. As a junior in high school, she was expelled for two weeks for assaulting another student in an altercation involving a prom dress. As a freshman in college, and again as a sophomore, she was charged with battery for assaulting an individual she considered a rival for a male student’s affection. Both assaults took place off campus and were not reported to the university; the charges were subsequently dropped. Elizabeth Tenney’s, (then Foltz) high school record and Hubbard police records verify Gessler’s statements, though no records exist to verify Gessler’s claim that the latter charges were dropped with the help of “her daddy’s money.” The source of this information, he said, was Elizabeth Tenney.

  Mrs. Tenney is currently in the Hubbard County jail awaiting arraignment.

  Recommendations/follow-up

  Make Chief Melvin aware of Richard Hickman’s alleged history, including the fact that his alleged heart surgery cannot be verified.

  Inform Hubbard Chief of Taco King’s lax attitude toward minors in bar/pool room.

  Tactfully suggest to Junie Fletcher that she find a different place to hide the door key, if she hasn’t done so already. But be careful lest you imply that her placement of the key is somehow responsible for her daughter’s death. Do not add to her sense of guilt.

  Try to hook Junie Fletcher up with a local survivor’s support group and some free counseling.

  Try to stop being so ticked that Gessler is walking away scot-free. Accept what you cannot change.

  Also, always take a book to read when you have breakfast at the Belmont. You haven’t read A Moveable Feast in a while. Lay that one out for tomorrow.

  You need to get some sleep, DeMarco. Maybe then you won’t need to write everything down before you forget it.

  And try to remember Junie’s assertion that “There are some good people in this world, thank God.”

  Watch and Listen

  All this I am about to tell you happened a long time ago. Looong time ago. And you, young man, you are the first person to ever hear a word of it. I swear to God.

  “So why are you telling it to me?”

  Couple of reasons. One, because everybody else in this story is dead now. And two, because you’re 15, and by all appearances not getting any smarter. By all appearances, on the road to doing something very stupid, same as I did. Something likely to ruin your life, same as I ruined mine.

  “Your life doesn’t look so ruined to me.”

  You see, that’s what I mean about being stupid. Basing your judgments on only what you think you know. What your eyes know. When what you don’t know is what you need to be paying attention to. What you do know is tiny, but what you don’t know is immense.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. How can you know what you don’t know?”

  You know what? Grandson or no grandson, you keep talking like that, and I’m likely to just go away and let you sink in your own stink.

  “I’m just trying to understand what you’re saying. How is it possible to know what you don’t know?”

  Did I say you have to know it? I said you have to pay attention to it. Be aware of it. Have some sense of the immensity of your ignorance.

  “Okay.”

  Okay what?

  “Okay, I know I don’t know everything.”

  You don’t know anything. Nada. Zip. Zero. You’re getting a third-rate education, and still have over two years of that to go. You have no marketable skills. No discernible talents. You are wholly and completely dependent upon others for your existence. Tell me if any of this is untrue.

  “I can do stuff.”

  You can do stuff like what? Shoplift? Get into fights? Piss off your teachers and your parents with your sass? Go take a look at the classifieds, see how many job openings there are in that line of work.

  “I could get a job in construction if I wanted to.”

  I’ll take that bet. A thousand dollars. I’ll give you a full week to do it. Here, let’s shake on it.

  “————”

  That’s what I thought. Now here’s something else you probably don’t know. The reason you don’t yet know anything worth knowing. It’s because your gray matter won’t be fully mature for another eight or nine years. You make bad decisions and think they’re good ones, because that’s what you’re undeveloped brain tells you. You got to learn not to listen to it.

  “Isn’t that impossible? If my brain tells me one thing, what am I supposed to use to tell my brain it’s wrong?”r />
  Did I say this is easy? Did I say growing up is a cakewalk? You have to develop the capacity for self-analysis. For example, when you brain tells you, Nice watch. Slip it into your pocket, nobody will know. You hear a thought like that, first thing you should do is to take a step back. Just step back away from it for a second. And ask yourself, ‘should I listen to that thought or not?’ And the answer is almost always going to be no. But then there’s likely to be an argument between those two parts of your brain. One part saying Do it, do it, do it, and the other part saying, Slow down, numbnuts. There’s a lot more bad than good coming your way if you pick up that watch.

  “Is that what your story’s about? Me stealing something?”

  I haven’t even started the story yet. I’m still trying to get your attention. You keep doing what you’re doing, you’re likely to get yourself kicked out of the nest. And believe me, you’re close to that right now. And if you do get kicked out of the nest, don’t expect to go flying off to another nest somewhere. Expect to dive headfirst into the concrete. So give a little thought to just how hard it’s going to be to get airborne from that position.

  “I honestly don’t understand half of what you’re saying.”

  My point exactly. You finally admitted the truth. That’s the first step. Recognize your total ignorance. Second step, swear on your soul you will never repeat this story to anybody. And I do mean anybody. At least until I’m in the ground.

  “Swear on my soul?”

  You don’t believe in such a thing, do you? Neither did I. Not until I drove a bus through it. Youthful cynicism. That’s a synonym for ignorance. You know what a synonym is?

  “It’s a word that sounds like another word.”

  Tell you what. Just shut up and listen.

  * * *

  Why he picked me to be his friend, I have no idea. Though if I’m being honest about it, I’d guess it was because I was the weakest of the three. Not weakest in terms of physical strength, because I was fine in that department, probably even better than the other two. But weak in terms of being easier to manipulate. To bend to his will.

  “Who’s will? Who’s this ‘he’ you’re talking about?”

  He called himself JT. Wouldn’t ever say what that stood for, or what his real name was. He was one of these loose-limbed, lanky kind of guys always had a little smirk on his lips. Always held his head cocked to the side a little, and with his chin down a little farther than normal. The only time he stood up straight and looked you square in the eye was when he wanted to look down on you and make you squirm. He was at least six-two when he stood up straight, which put him two inches taller than Eddie, four over me, and five over Rich.

  “How tall are you?”

  Doesn’t matter how tall I am now. It’s what I was then, at 16 years old.

  “You’re at least six feet tall, aren’t you?”

  Let’s just forget about height. I’m sorry I brought it up. We’re talking about JT now. For some reason, it was me he got buddy-buddy with that first night. I don’t see how he could have known that Rich and Eddie had been best friends since first grade, and therefore would have been tough to separate, to divide and conquer, you know? Just sensed it, I guess. Right from the start, he zeroed in on me as the odd man out.

  “Right from the start of what?”

  The start of knowing us. He watched us shooting pool for about 20 minutes—

  “Shooting pool where?”

  The where of it has nothing to do with this. It’s irrelevant.

  “You can’t just have a pool table in the middle of nowhere. You say you were shooting pool, and I’m thinking, there’s no place around here to do that.”

  There’s your ignorance popping up again. This was long before you were even a thought, junior. Even long before your daddy was.

  “So you’re saying there used to be a place to play pool around here? Where was it exactly?”

  You don’t have an easy time holding a focus, do you?

  “If you’re not going to tell me, I don’t know why I’m even standing here listening to—”

  Sit your butt down in that chair! Sit down! You leave this room before I say you can, I reach for my phone and call the police.

  “You’re not going to have your own grandson arrested.”

  You stopped being my grandson the moment you walked into this room, picked a $4,000 watch off my desk, and slipped it into your pocket. Sit down!

  All right then. I’m not your mother, you need to keep that in mind. You think I’m going to give you a break just because you’re her child? I don’t give punks a break. People who get a break from me get it because they’ve earned it. You haven’t earned it yet. I’ll let you know if and when you do. Is that clear?

  “All I wanted to know was where you used to play pool around here.”

  This used to be a nice little town. Busy, even. Every building on Main Street was a business of some kind, all of them getting by just fine. The pool hall was called Harley’s back then. And not because of the motorcycle. Harley was the name of the woman who owned the place. Harley Sommers.

  “Sounds like a stripper.”

  You just can’t help yourself, can you? Mocking that of which you possess nary a scintilla of knowledge. You are an ignorant, narcissistic, incompetent punk. Get that through your head. And the only way you have any hope of altering that condition is to sit there with your mouth shut and your ears open. Do you think you can manage that?

  “————”

  Good. Now then. If you can quit pissing me off, I will continue.

  Okay. Harley’s. It was on the southern end of town. Where that Sheetz is now. Twelve beautiful tables, a cooler full of soft drinks, a display case full of candy bars and snack cakes. No alcohol allowed. The place was full of blue smoke every night, though. A lot of it coming from Harley herself. You had to be 16 to get through the door. Tables were 50 cents a rack.

  I started hanging out there the summer before my junior year. The old man was drinking a lot, my mother was bitching and moaning all the time, two sisters and a brother had already gotten out while the getting was good. My first night there, I spent most of my time leaning against the wall, trying to figure out the games. Eight-ball, nine-ball, cutthroat and straight pool, those were the most popular ones. After a while Eddie asked if I wanted to join him and Rich for some cutthroat. That’s how I got in with those two. Both of them a year ahead of me in school. And they treated me good most of the time, but like I was their little brother. There was always that distance between us. They were best friends, I was the third wheel.

  It wasn’t long after that when JT showed up. The middle of December, it was. He was 22, 23, maybe 24 years old. That first night, though, he watched us finish a game, then came over and introduced himself, asked if he could join us. Said he and I would take on Eddie and Rich in a game of straight pool, nickel a ball. I told him I barely had enough jingle to cover my share of the table, he said no worries, we weren’t going to lose. And we didn’t. We played three times before Eddie and Rich called it quits, and by then I had an extra dollar in my pocket. JT gave me a ride home, and it was like our partnership was cemented.

  So, as I’ve already said, he must have singled me out from the very start. He was sharp like that. Could sum up a person with a glance. And I was ripe for somebody to treat me with a little respect. One game of pool and he knew I was the best tool for the job. Use it and throw it away.

  Six nights later, I was standing in a stranger’s back yard, shivering without a coat and looking down at three blue-tinted faces being slowly covered up with snow. And me trying to decide whether to get the hell out of there, or go back inside and call the police.

  “What happened? Did you kill them?”

  Keep your panties on, I’m getting to that.

  There was this old guy in town, pretty much a hermit. Almost never left his house. His name was Silas something or other. I remember it only because it was such an odd name for these parts. Pl
us he was rumored to be the richest guy around. A millionaire at least. And that was very big money back when I was your age.

  So anyway. For the next five nights, JT and I cleaned up at Harley’s.

  “This was after the three dead guys in the snow?”

  Before the three guys in the snow. Right after I met JT. He could do bank shot, double-bank shots, jump shots, massé shots, whatever. He could put some seriously crazy English on the ball.

  “What’s that mean—English?”

  Spin. He could shoot a ball halfway down the table, make it hit a rail or another ball, spin in a half-circle and come back to the tip of his cue stick. It got to be where nobody would play with us. The thing was, he made all those shots wearing a pair of black lambskin driving gloves. He called them his second skin. Said they gave him a more sensitive touch, like they were magical or something. He never took them off. To me, that just made him even cooler. A very special dude.

  “Like Michael Jackson with his sequined glove.”

  If you say so. Anyway, one night JT says to me, Let’s take a ride. We get into his car and right away he hands me a beer, which, being stupid like you, I thought was also very cool. Ten minutes later we’re cruising very slowly past Silas’s big, dark house. There’s only a couple of lights on inside, and the sky is as dark as tar, and there’s snow coming down at a fairly good rate now. The way it falls past the yellow lights in the windows is kind of mesmerizing for me. That and I have a little buzz on from the beer. And what do you think JT wants us to do?

  “Rob the old man?”

  You see? When you shut up and listen, you can sometimes figure things out. You can see the relationship between things. The causes and effects. So yes, he wanted us to rob the place. Said he knew for a fact that the old man had a safe full of gold coins.

  “How would he know that?”

  My question exactly. And his answer was, all I needed to know was that there was a fortune in gold coins in a safe in the den. The fact that he even knew the house had a den impressed me. At the time, I had only a foggy notion of what a den is.